


burn

by DEATHEXECUTION



Category: Lords of Chaos (2018), Mayhem (Band)
Genre: Fluff? kinda, Implied Smut, M/M, euro’s trying to get a grip ok pls, pelle’s a good boyfriend :), well kinda lol - Freeform, øystein’s in denial
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-18
Updated: 2020-05-18
Packaged: 2021-03-02 21:33:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,083
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24243601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DEATHEXECUTION/pseuds/DEATHEXECUTION
Summary: øystein’s in denial.
Relationships: Dead | Per Yngve Ohlin/Øystein Aarseth
Comments: 11
Kudos: 36





	burn

**Author's Note:**

> HI PLS EXCUSE ANY/ALL TYPOS CAUSE I WAS SUPER TIRED WHILE WRITING THIS A N D I REALLY WANTED TO WRITE SO

Oh, how little you know. How little you know.

I search for you in sad poetry, I search for you in a dark alley and lights in the city, during hours of blue winter mornings and during foggy funerals.

I search for you in all subtle things, so subtle yet so melancholy. You make me feel so homesick, yet so at home at the same time.

You’re above me and I can’t move and my mouth is dry. You lean down and your long blond hair weaves curtains over my face, closing in the space around us, but not between us. It’s your job to do that, after all.

And you do it, you finish your job and lean in. I’m engulfed by your scent; a smell so thick with death and apparition, a smell so familiar that it almost fucking hurts. Your lips aren’t any different, they’re still so soft; unlike what you’d expect from a guy who literally calls himself dead. They’re soft and tender, and they graze mine just slightly, just to tease.

I fight back the urge to grab your hair and push you down so that I can fully taste you again, and despite it being so out of character, I win the fight and stay still, letting you have your fun for once. You wanted to be in control this time, and trust me, it was hard to let go; but I did it for you. I wanted to make you happy, and if losing my dignity was the price then fuck it, I had nothing left to lose anyway.

You pull back briefly and smile bitterly. “You’re so unlike yourself today” you say, sitting up on my lap and pushing your hair back. “I can’t believe that I managed to actually make you give up like that.”

Your smile is so fucking annoying, it makes me want to punch it clean off of your face.

“Shut up.” I mutter, beginning to lose my patience. “I’m only doing this for you, alright? Be grateful.”

I make it clear that if not for the circumstances we were in, I would’ve had you slammed against the wall and writhing beneath me already. You don’t know how fucking hard it is to refrain from doing that, do you?

For a vocalist like yourself, someone who claims to be the embodiment of death, you’re awfully slow, which contradicts all of my expectations. I’d imagine you to be fast, rough, whatever— but no. I had completely forgotten that you were submissive as shit when somebody tried to dominate you when it came to... being in bed. No wonder you were being so torturous and sluggish.

Fuck, maybe that’s the whole point? Being slow and stuff. If it is then goddamn, you’ve got me right where you want me to be.

It’s quiet as you stare down at me like a predator watching it’s prey. You watch me intensely, as if you’re about to eat me up with the smallest, smuggest smile on your face. I fucking hate it and I fucking hate the fact that I so desperately want you to kiss me even more.

“C’mere,” I beckon, and you laugh and lean in, the gap between us closing once again as you finally press your lips against mine.

Perhaps the stench of rotting meat and animal cadaver in your bedroom wasn’t so bad anymore now that your warm lips were moving against mine so passionately. You sure knew how to rile a man up, and the fact that you’re so clueless about it is almost funny; albeit the fact that you’re more than likely aware of your very own capabilities.

Every single brash movement makes me gravitate closer, makes me arch my back and meet your chest, yearning for your touch. God, I want you to touch me so fucking badly again, you’ve been teasing me for far too long, and I was more than ready to finally experience you’re so-called godly domination skills, or whatever you called it.

The night went on and you left me satisfied, although I didn’t go down without a fight and without a quirky comment saying something along the lines of ‘you weren’t even that good’, something like that. Sure, you were actually decent at meeting my expectations, but i wasn’t gonna let you top me ever again, just to save my stupid fucking ego.

I slept so soundly with you in my arms that night, your feathery hair tickling my face as I inhaled your scent one last time before slowly falling into unconsciousness, finding the smell not so unpleasant after all, but maybe I’m just biased and used to it by now.

There’s no one in this world that I can hold on to like I hold on to you. I’ve never really been in love, I’ve only had some sexual experiences here and there before, but none of it felt as genuine and as passionate as whatever the hell this is.

You’re a gift. You’re like the sweet pitter-patter of midnight rain against a frozen windowsill; you’re like autumn fog, so gentle and welcoming, yet so mysterious. You’re like a December morning; blue and cold, yet so fucking beautiful, I can’t help but hate you out of spite.

I love you so much, it makes me sick.

Grim sunlight shines through your dirty open windows, and I had only now realized that I hadn’t slept at all. Instead I wasted time thinking— it was time well wasted though, cause i was thinking about you.

God, you’ve contaminated my fucking mind now. What else are you capable of? Fucker.

As if on cue, you stir in your sleep, (speak of the devil) and I only hug you a little tighter, pulling you closer and burying my face against your neck. I don’t want to get up, mostly cause I’m tired, and knowing you, you’ll probably force me to get up anyway.

I breathe out softly and close my burning eyes. You stop moving around and everything’s quiet except for the birdsong outside of your windows.

I’d say that I love you (again) but no, god damnit, I fucking hate you for polluting my mind like that.

I wish I could go on about my day saying that you don’t mean shit to me, that I don’t care about you, etcetera etcetera. Thing is, though, I really do give at least half a shit about you; and I hate it.

Thanks a lot, idiot.


End file.
